It was a dull winter evening. Richa gazed out the window as the cold wind swept dry fallen leaves across the garden. She clutched the maroon sweater tightly, trying to hold on to that warmth now lost forever.
"We found these at the accident site. Perhaps this sweater and wallet belonged to your husband," the officer said, handing her the items before leaving.
Richa accepted them silently. Placing the wallet on the side table, she held Sunil's maroon sweater close; hugging it to her face, she sobbed softly, as if trying to inhale his scent.
Her tears mingled with memories of her first year in college. Sunil, three years her senior, was the tall, handsome, college heartthrob and lead guitarist in the band. They met during the college musical, organized by Sunil. Richa had joined the volunteers’ team helping him with the decorations.
Sunil welcomed her with a warm smile. Richa painted the stage's backdrop skillfully, and Sunil, impressed by her work, generously complimented her. As someone who had always seen herself as average, Richa was unaccustomed to such praise, especially from someone like Sunil, whom she secretly admired. Her heart fluttered as she thanked him and walked out of the auditorium.
To her surprise, Sunil followed her and asked "Would you like to come to the canteen for a cup of tea?" Dazed, she looked at him and shyly agreed.
From then on, they met daily—at the library or canteen—sharing books, insights, or simply a cup of tea. Their friendship blossomed into love, and they sealed their bond with marriage.
With heavy steps Richa walked from the window to the bookshelf. Her fingers instinctively reached for a book titled ‘Meera's Krishna’. It was Sunil’s first gift to her. She remembered how she had imagined herself as Meera and Sunil as Krishna, and with this devotion, she had knitted the sweater for him.
As their first winter together approached, Richa spent hours knitting the sweater, pouring her love into each stitch. She planned to gift it to Sunil on his birthday, which was the same date as today. When they met at the library, she handed him the wrapped sweater. His eyes lit up as he unwrapped it and joyfully exclaimed, "You made this for me!"
"Yes," Richa nodded softly. Sunil eagerly stood up and put on the sweater. Richa noticed that the sleeves were short, and pointed to them, saying, "Oh, the sleeves aren't the right size. I only guessed your measurements." Sunil smiled and pulled her close. "A hug is always the right size," he said as he embraced her.
Richa vividly recalled that winter evening- Sunil’s confession of love, his arms wrapped around her, the warmth of their first embrace. It still lingered in the fibers of this sweater and her memory. As tears flowed down her face, dampening the maroon sweater in her hands, she wiped them away; fearing they might wash off the last traces of that warmth left in it.